Nolan woke up in a Virginia medical center. He'd been out for 42 hours and had been treated for head trauma, a spinal abrasion, and flesh wounds.

The memories were what jolted him awake. Waking or sleeping, all he saw was visions of the fire, the bodies...the faces. He heard the explosions and the chaos and the screams, everything replaying itself like a movie stuck on repeat. Even after the first psychiatrist came, it hardly stopped. The memories were still there.

It didn't seem fair. The one man that had survived was the one man who deserved it the least. As he lay in the hospital bed, every time a nurse moved a heavy cart or rearranged furniture in another room, that low rumbling sound made chills break out over Nolan's skin. Sometimes he heard the explosions ringing in his head or thought he saw an unusual object under a visitor's jacket. He'd always heard of soldiers coming back from war with post-traumatic stress, but always figured it was just a problem for weak men who couldn't handle bloodshed. But the visions Nolan saw in his mind's eye made him regret that form of thinking.

And then there was the guilt. He'd been the one who made the decision to leave his squad and set off the first bomber. He'd killed his team. The weight of that thought alone made Nolan hate himself more and more each day. If only he could have taken any of their places...

After a two weeks of recovery, Nolan was able to get up and walk around the facility. Therapists came in and helped him move easily, although he rarely did the exercises they told him to do in his free time.

One day a nurse came in with a letter addressed to him. Nolan cautiously opened it and read He scanned it once. Twice. It was a warrant for his arrest. What had he done? The letter states that upon his release from the hospital, he would be placed in federal custody.

He sank to the bed, dumbfounded. He'd expected to be discharged from the military, but arrested? There had to be some misunderstanding. He tried to put it off in his mind, knowing that it would get sorted out. He couldn't possibly be in trouble with the law for what he did on the cargo ship.

Two days later, as Nolan was packing his things to leave the hospital, he noticed a tension in the air around him when a police officer came into his room. "Mr. Clay." He said Nolan set down a small bag of supplies he was packing and straightened as much as he could with his injured spine. "Yes, sir?"

"I'm warrant officer Bertram. I'm placing you under arrest."

"So I heard. But this is a mistake, I haven't done anything wrong."

"Your case is being investigated currently, so for now it's just temporary."

"But what am I being arrested for?" The officer stepped forward and placed handcuffs around Nolan's wrists.

"I don't currently have the authority to disclose that information."

"Who said that?"

"Captain John Davis of the US Navy SEALs."

Nolan was numb as he was led out of the hospital and placed in a police vehicle. He sat rigidly in the back seat, completely shocked.

He was being arrested.

For what?

He looked down at the metal cuffs around his wrists. Two weeks ago he was fleeing an exploding ship, and now he was being locked up in jail.

He cast his gaze out the metal-grated window and watched as the beautiful Virginian landscape passed by. They were encircled by snowy peaks that nearly touched low-hanging clouds.

Once they arrived at the federal prison, Nolan was checked in as an inmate and led to his own cell. The feeling was surreal. He'd spent four years since he was eighteen fighting for his country and now he was locked behind bars for a crime he didn't even know he'd committed yet. The questions that raced through his mind were maddening.

He paced for hours until his throbbing back told him it was time to sit down. He rested on a bumpy cot that protruded from the wall.

It's just a mistake...

Sleep finally overtook him, plagued with nightmarish visions, until the next morning. He was sitting on his cot when a panel on his cell door was flipped open.

"Mr. Clay, you have a visitor."

The door was promptly opened and a young officer stood on the other side, stone faced.

"For me?" Nolan asked suspiciously, fearful of the sudden rush of hope that rose inside him. He'd spent the last fifteen hours incarcerated without knowledge of why he was there in the first place. Answers would definitely be nice.

"Yes." The officer nodded.

Nolan allowed himself to be handcuffed and led to the visitor center.

There were plastic chairs lined up in a row with small dividers in between each one. Nolan sat in one at the far end against a wall. A window separated him from an empty chair on the other side. He waited for over ten minutes, wondering what position wouldn't look awkward with his cuffed hands, when a man in a decorated white uniform sat across from him.

"Captain Davis..." Nolan murmured, more than a little shocked. Seeing him brought a flood of memories. Bad memories. The man he'd betrayed was sitting right in front of him.

"Clay." The captain unlocked a briefcase and began organizing papers. The wrinkles in his face were deep and ridged. "You're probably wondering why you woke up in a federal medical facility and are now being held in custody, I'm sure."

"Yes, sir." Nolan replied quietly.

"As you've probably guessed, you are being dishonorably discharged from the Unites States Navy SEALs department."

Nolan nodded slowly. "Yes, sir." He'd been expecting those words, but hearing them said aloud carried a much heavier sting than he was expecting.

Captain Davis looked up at Nolan, his light blue eyes reflecting grief. "Why'd you do it, Clay?" Nolan couldn't meet his gaze. "I just saw someone, so I took matters into my own hands and—" "I don't mean disobeying my orders, son. That's irrelevant to the issues here."

Nolan knit his eyebrows together. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what you mean."

Disgust replaced the sadness in the captain's face as he pulled out a file and fairly shoved it at Nolan through a slot under the window.

Nolan glanced at the captain before pulling the string to open it.

Project: Coercion

Objective: Neutralize Russian terrorists; extract information from Dimyan Egor, leader of Bolshevik clan.

Synopsis: Rogue officer Nolan Dominic Clay shot and killed Dimyan Egor, terminating the objective and forfeiting the mission. Four of the five officers were killed in action.

Mission Results: Failed

Nolan stared at the document before him, his mouth hanging open. "Sir I—"

"So why did you do it?" The captain interrupted, his voice taught as he folded his hands.

Nolan gulped down his shock and stared at him evenly. "I didn't kill Dimyan Egor. I was coming up from the broiler room when I made contact with you and then I went into the barracks to locate the rest of the squad. When I got there, I found Egor dead."

Captain Davis's lips formed a line as he passed another file towards Nolan.

Inside was the ballistics of Egor's death. He was shot and killed by a 5.56mm bullet from a designated marksman rifle.

"That sounds a lot like your gun and its ammunition, doesn't it?" Nolan looked up at his captain aghast. He could tell by the look on his face that there wasn't any convincing to be done. So, of course, he tried to convince him. "I swear to you, I never put a bullet in that man's head. I walked in and—"

Captain Davis's jaw tightened. "This matter is settled, Nolan."

"I'm not going to be put back in that cell." Nolan said, his voice shaking with anger. "I know what I did was wrong. I killed my team. I exploited our mission. I disobeyed your orders. I get it, sir, I really do. I will never, ever live any of this down; I'll never forget it and I'll never forgive myself. I did a lot of wrong things that night and I couldn't even count them on one hand. But please, sir, just believe me. I didn't kill Egor; I walked in and he was already dead. Someone shot him, but it wasn't me."

Captain Davis drew in a breath. "The case is all but closed, son. The minute you moved out of position on that ship, you were no longer a SEAL but a civilian. You murdered a man, Clay, and you have to be served justice for that."

Nolan was desperate. "Captain—"

"Son, it's over. Just stop; there's nothing you can do."

Nolan's heart hammered in his chest. He stared with his mouth partially agape. Finally, he sat back in his chair.

"How—how long?" He whispered.

"Ten years."

Nolan couldn't speak. He could see his life crumbling before him. After a while he said, "Is there anything that can be done? I mean, can I request a hearing in court...or something?"

The captain began collecting his papers. "You'll have a hearing, yes. But I wouldn't get your hopes up. I'm sorry, Clay. Really. We're trying to keep this whole thing quiet. You killed the one man that could have given us information to the entire Bolshevik terrorist group. If we make this failure too public, it would be a disaster for the military and an encouragement for the terrorists overseas."

Nolan watched as he stood up to leave. "So this is it? I'm not going to step outside these walls for ten years?"

Captain Davis held his files loosely in his hands. "You might be eligible for work release one day." He offered a small smile. "I'm sorry, Nolan. Really."

With that, he was gone.

Nolan sat silently. He hadn't killed Egor, yet he had to spend ten years locked up for a crime of murder? Didn't he get a say in all of this?

He was led back to his cell, where he spent the remainder of his evening. He attended the "court hearings" Captain Davis had mentioned, but nothing went in his favor. The evidence was too solid.

Nolan would never forget the sound of the gavel being pounded and the words "The jury finds the defendant guilty" echoing through the courthouse. He felt numb all over as he was escorted back to his cell to be left alone.

Every day, every year carried something different.

At first it was anger. The injustice done to him was remarkably unfair for something he knew he didn't do. The feeling of complete and utter helplessness was overwhelming. Then it was the guilt. He'd put his squad at risk and the results were fatal, in which case he should have spent two hundred years in prison.

He didn't need to be in prison to realize the weight of his crime. To him, sitting in a sterile cell wasn't the justice he deserved. Sitting in a cell wouldn't allow his team to forgive him.

But then again, what would?

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Thank you so much for reading!!

I'd love to hear your thoughts; I can't wait until next week  ^_^